


golden days

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fingering, First Time, M/M, PWP, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I kiss you?” Steve says in one rush, and Bucky is saying, “God, yes, please,” before he even registers it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	golden days

**Author's Note:**

> Figured I should finally make my porn debut, but what was supposed to be a small ficlet quickly got away from me. As usual.

It’s hot.

Even for Brooklyn in August it’s hot.

Usually, Steve likes to spend summer Sundays at the park—Prospect or Central—sketching, and Bucky, with nothing to do on his day off from the docks, is more than happy to tag along. But with the already-warm morning continuing to rise so does the desire to stay inside, even if it’s only marginally cooler indoors.

“ _Christ,_ it’s hot,” Bucky moans. Already stripped down to his underwear, he’s still sweating. It looks like Steve is faring no better, stretched out on their scraggly couch down to his pants. And Bucky has to look away, remind himself not to stare, at all of Steve’s sharp angles and winter-white skin dew-dotted with perspiration.

“Only gonna get hotter,” Steve mumbles, eyes closed.

“Thanks for the service announcement.”

A smile spreads across Steve’s face. “Anytime, Buck.”

They lapse into heat-induced silence once again. Bucky paces, because everywhere seems too hot: their kitchen chairs, the floor, their single overstuffed armchair. Nowhere offers any relief, and Bucky feels like he may go crazy because of it. He wants to turn on the radio but for some background noise, but everything has largely been about the unrest overseas lately. The docks are filled with it, whispered discussions and predictions. Bucky gets the shuddery-sinking feeling that things are going to change soon and he doesn’t want to think about it.

So instead he settles into the best mode he knows: annoying roommate. Steve gets irritable whenever he’s uncomfortable, and on those rare occasions when it isn’t because he’s sick Bucky enjoys baiting him because Steve can never _not_ take the bait.

“You could draw me.”

“It’s too hot.”

“You could draw the orange Mrs. Harper gave us for helping her with her groceries.”

“That was _me_ and you know it. And no.”

“You could—”

“Bucky, I swear to god.”

“Wish it wasn't too hot to go get an ice cream down at Coney Island,” Bucky muses, staring at a winding crack in the plaster above their window and fighting back a smile.

From the couch Steve moans, and Bucky stops dead in his tracks, smile fading fast. He has to swallow hard and force himself to remember the nuns at the orphanage to keep from popping one right in front of his best friend. Shame curls itself tight in his gut, a heavy ball that refuses to go away.

“Don’t say that,” Steve says, unaware of Bucky’s crisis. He slits open his eyes and gives Bucky a glare. He is so gorgeous, Bucky thinks, unbidden. Doesn’t even know how gorgeous he is, and it’s driving me crazy.

_I’ll say anything if it makes you make that sound again_ Bucky almost says. Instead he settles for, “I’m just trying to keep myself sane here, Stevie.”

Steve mumbles something and stands, stretching. He holds it for maybe a second longer than normal, but Bucky is too busy trying _not_ to stare that he doesn’t notice and only snaps to attention when Steve says, wondering, “You know, I never noticed how much your job at the docks has changed you.”

“What, sayin’ I ain’t as skinny as you anymore?” Bucky jokes, but his skin turns hotter.

“Saying the muscle looks good on you, s’all,” Steve replies casually. They hold their ground for a moment, Bucky trying to figure out what in the hell Steve is getting at, before Steve is stepping forward and then—wow, he’s touching, okay, gentle artist’s fingers mapping down the sun-brown skin of Bucky’s shoulder. Down, over freckles and moles and the lines of Bucky’s arm, and Steve is looking up and Bucky is looking down—

“Steve,” Bucky says, hoarse, taken aback by the sudden daring heat in Steve’s eyes, the kind he usually only ever sees when there’s a fight Steve refuses to back down from. Not running away, that’s the look: intense, determined, focused.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve says in one rush, and Bucky is saying, “God, yes, _please_ ,” before he even registers it.

And then Steve’s lips are on him, a little too firm and awkward, but once Bucky comes back to his senses he guides him, hand on the back of Steve’s neck, until Steve is relaxed, hands on Bucky’s shoulders, stretched to his full height. The thought of that, of Steve on his tiptoes making the move Bucky has been piss-scared of ever since he knew he liked boys as much as girls, has Bucky moaning against Steve’s mouth.

When Steve parts his lips Bucky eagerly leads, hand sliding forward to cup Steve’s jaw, coaxing him into greeting the brush of Bucky’s tongue with his own, until they’re both trembling and moaning and Bucky has to break away to pant, “Steve, are you—?”

“Wanted to do that for awhile,” Steve admits. His lips are red, slick, and Bucky stares at them as Steve talks. The flush on his cheeks spreads down his chest. Bucky thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Have you?” Bucky asks, still hung up on the fact that Steve has just kissed him. “‘Cause,” he adds, shaking himself out of his stupor, “I’ve been wantin’ to do that for years.”

Steve laughs, delighted and breezy, and kisses Bucky as he says, “Couple of mooks, the both of us.”

Bucky leads them to his room where he hurriedly strips them out of their pants. They fall onto the bed, Steve’s back on the mattress, and he stares up at Bucky with wide eyes. His hands explore, touching everywhere on Bucky’s torso. Like he’s silently saying _mine_. Each brush of a fingertip, each press of a palm, leaves Bucky feeling seared, as if he could look down when Steve takes his hand away and see the imprints left on his flesh.

They kiss, and Bucky loses himself in the slick, hungry slide of lips. Steve is hard against his thigh through his underwear, and Bucky’s hand finding the shape has a throaty moan escaping Steve’s mouth.

And then they’re naked, spread out in the unforgiving light of day, and Bucky thinks that there isn't one thing on Steve’s body that is unforgiving. He maps his own trails, creates the criss-cross of rivers and roads and mountain peaks over soft skin that smells like their generic soap and tastes like sweat and skin and _Steve_ when Bucky trails his tongue down the smooth, bony center of Steve’s chest.

They flip, and it’s Bucky with his back on the mattress, legs spread to let Steve in between. For the first time since the living room the shadow of uncertainty crosses over his face as he looks down at Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s a hairsbreadth more than average, but nothing that no one has trouble taking. Steve’s fingers twitch where they're spread over Bucky’s sides, and he opens his mouth, starts to say, “You don’t—” and gets layered over with Steve’s voice.

“Is it all right if I…”

Bucky gasps, words trailing off. Steve’s breath is hot over the damp head of Bucky’s cock, and everything in Bucky wants to immediately say yes, maybe even thread his fingers through that golden hair and guide that plush mouth into his cock, but this is Steve, whose eyes are wide and challenging, but also a little nervous. This is his best friend who wants to do this, who is naked in all his sinewy glory and more gorgeous than anyone Bucky has ever seen, and he fits his fingers into the little shadows between Steve’s ribs as if to prove it, mapping each inhale and exhale against blush-warmed skin.

Bucky swallows hard to dampen his mouth and manages to croak out, “Only if you want to, pal,” going for casual but knowing he’s failing miserably. “Not everyone likes this, it’s okay if you don’t—”

And he cuts off on a loud moan, head thrown back as Steve’s lips stretch around the straining girth of his cock.

Steve is inexperienced, and sloppy, and doesn’t quite know to use his hands, but fuck if he isn’t better than any dame that Bucky has had in his bed. What he lacks in finesse he makes up for in enthusiasm, the wet suction of his lips loud and obscene against the rough pulls of Bucky’s breath. He’s a fast learner, picking up on every single one of Bucky’s tells and using them to his advantage. At the testing twirl of tongue against his slit Bucky pushes his shoulders up off the bed, forgetting himself for a moment and resting his hand on the back of Steve’s head and groaning out, “Oh, fuck, Steve."

Steve lets out a muffled, broken sound, and pulls back with a slick noise that makes Bucky shiver. He makes the mistake of looking down and gets an eyeful of the string of saliva-mixed pre-come stretching from Steve’s red lower lip to the head of his cock, catches the light of wonderment and arousal in Steve’s eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits on his haunches.

“That was…” he pauses, and _fuck_ , he’s hard. So hard and _big_ and swollen pink where he curves up towards the slight concave of his belly, and Bucky has never in his life wanted a cock in his ass as badly as he does this one. “Was it…you know?”

Bucky surges up too quickly, gets light-headed, and blinks away the dark edging in his vision as he takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses, deep and filthy, licking at the faint taste of himself on the velvet smoothness of Steve’s tongue. It makes Steve mewl, a pretty little sound, and squirm just right in Bucky’s lap.

“So good,” he breathes. “So goddamn good, Steve, shit. Knew you had a mouth on ya but didn’t know you could use it like that.”

Steve punches Bucky’s shoulder, blushing, but he’s smiling in that proud accomplished way he has. He isn’t used to praise, and with his lack of experience every single one of Bucky’s words are probably the most important thing to him right now. And Bucky’s always wanted to give Steve the world, to shelter him from the bad and only show him the good. Steve’s strong, for what he’s been through, but Bucky knows how he soldiers through the dull sting of rejection with slumped shoulders. He doesn’t want that, not here.

Bucky leans in to kiss Steve again, slower this time, allowing himself to map and gauge every reaction. When Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands, fluttering them somewhere around Bucky’s shoulders, Bucky guides them to his waist, slides his own up Steve’s sides to cradle his jaw, feeling it work as Steve clumsily slides his tongue against Bucky’s and grows bolder by the second.

Bucky whimpers, pulling Steve down flush against his body. They both jolt at the friction of their cocks together, and Steve moans Bucky’s name against the sweat-slick curve of his shoulder, hips stuttering forward instinctively.

“What do you wanna do?” Bucky asks, cupping Steve’s ass in his hands. He’s so soft, so fragile, and yet so strong and bold and brave. A lot of people think Bucky is the bigger man, both physically and morally, but no one has bothered to get to know Steve like he has. Bucky is worth ten of Steve, maybe more. “We can do this, or I can use my mouth”—and he doesn’t let on how much he wants to do that, how he can feel the saliva welling up at the thought of that big cock stretching his mouth open, choking him—“or we can rub one out together. It’s whatever you wanna do, Steve, I’m not pressurin’ you or nothing.”

“Not like you pressured me at all,” Steve mumbles, mouthing at Bucky’s skin before sitting up. His eyes are big, dilated to a dark navy, and Bucky wants to get lost in them. Feels like he could probably pitch headfirst into them and fall forever.

“Have you ever been…fucked?” Steve asks, shy, after a moment, and _fuck_ if that doesn't make Bucky hot all over, hearing that word in this context coming from Steve’s rose-petal mouth. Not like Steve is innocent, or has a mouth pure enough to make a nun happy—this is Brooklyn and Steve likes to stir shit up—but it’s just that it’s usually Bucky with the gutter mouth, and Steve telling him to cool it.

Bucky shakes his head and tries to look at least a _little_ cavalier about this. “No, but it ain’t like the thought hasn't crossed my mind from time to time.” And it has: the dames seem to love it, and Bucky’s fooled around with a fella or two in the dark alleys outside secret clubs and they seem to like it, judging from what they’ve said.

“I think…I might want that?” Steve colors more like he isn't sitting naked on Bucky’s lap. “I don't know if I could right now, but sometime? In the future. I’d like that.”

Bucky would wait a thousand years if he had to. Hell, he’s waited this long now. As much as he wants it, though, now doesn't feel right, on a whim on a hot-sticky afternoon. He wants to give it to Steve right, with proper romance and all the time in the world. When he gives Steve’s ass another squeeze he’s struck with an idea, and heat at the thought of it rushes through him so fast he feels as if he might pass out. “I know just what we can do. We got enough of that vaseline over there?”

Steve twists to look, and Bucky watches the flex of sinewy muscle, the jut of bone. Bucky holds him steady, hands on his hips, when Steve reaches over and grabs the little jar, tilting his head curiously. “What’re we gonna do with this?”

Bucky takes the jar and gives Steve a sly little grin, one that he knows tends to make knees wobbly. “You said you wanted to wait to get fucked. So how about I show you what happens before?” Just to make his point clear, his slides his fingers down the cleft of Steve’s ass and presses dry over his hole.

Steve cries out, hips rocking forward, and he catches his balance with a hand on Bucky’s chest, eyes wide.

“You okay with that?” Bucky asks, continuing to rub with his index finger. The muscle flutters against him and he groans quietly. Steve’s face is pure rapture, all lax lines and slack mouth and faintly-furrowed brow. Bucky wants _more._

“So…so okay,” Steve gasps, and then he’s kissing Bucky, hot, sucking breaths and more tongue than lip. It gets dirty fast, Steve’s hands tangled in Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s hand against the back of Steve’s neck. He flips them quickly, gets Steve spread out below him, hedonistic in the afternoon gold of their room. Sweat glows on his body, though Bucky isn’t sure if it’s from this or just from the heat alone.

“You’re still sure you’re okay,” Bucky says, picking up the small jar of vaseline form where he’d set it on the bed.

Steve rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Buck, I promise you I’m okay with this.”

Bucky swats Steve’s thin thigh and feels his cock jump at the gasp Steve lets out. “Just checking, punk. No need to get all _hostile_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m about to get hostile if you don’t _do somethin’_ right goddamn now.”

Bucky laughs and urges Steve’s legs wider on the bed, swallowing hard at the glimpse it offers him of Steve’s little pink hole. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, Rogers.” Fingers tremble when he unscrews the jar, but Steve says nothing as he continues to watch with calm, trusting eyes. Tongue passes over lip when Bucky dips his fingers into the jar to slick them up, and Bucky has to fight off the urge to wrap those slick fingers around himself instead.

“Gonna need you to relax for me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. “Tilt your hips.” Steve does, and Bucky coaxes Steve’s thigh a little wider and pets at the soft, milky inner skin with his clean hand. The other hand hovers, fingers slick, waiting for a nod. Steve bites his lip and breathes out, and there it is, the go-ahead, pressed against their pillows.

He teases first, rubbing the slick pad of his index finger around tight muscle. Steve’s breathing picks up slightly, hips squirming on the bed. Then he’s slow in pushing in, slow to feed the gradual length of his finger into Steve’s body, and “ _Fuck_ , you’re tight,” he breathes.

Steve’s gripping him like he’ll never let go. His breaths are shallow, eyes squeezed shut and fingers gripping the sheets a little tighter than is normal. Bucky waits, testing, rotating his finger to pet against hot, silky insides. Gradually Steve relaxes, gripping Bucky a little less tighter, and Bucky pulls back, presses his middle finger tightly against his index, and slowly pushes back in.

This time, Steve lets out a throaty gasp, hips jerking slightly. When Bucky looks up he sees that Steve’s head is thrown back, shadows stretching under his chin, light haloing behind him. His nipples are tight and pebbled, and as Bucky begins slowly moving his fingers he reaches up with his other hand and gently pinches a nipple between his fingers.

Steve _moans_ , low and throaty, and Bucky can feel his hummingbird heartbeat underneath his palm. He does it again, rubbing with the heel of his palm after, and Steve gasps, arching up off the bed, and moans, “ _Bucky_ ,” in a tight voice that makes Bucky flush hot all over.

He’d never thought that he’d ever be able to hear his name out of Steve’s mouth like that, had never thought he’d have _Steve_ like this in his bed. Whatever he did in a past life, it was something spectacular.

“Still feel good?” Bucky asks as he starts scissoring his fingers, slow, giving Steve enough time to relax and open up. It’s checking in more than an actual question, because Steve’s been leaking steadily over his belly, little clear sticky pools that Bucky’s aching to taste.

“Y-yeah,” Steve replies in a punched-out voice. He struggles to his elbows, looks down at where Bucky’s hand moves between his legs, and Bucky swears that Steve’s eyes darken another shade. “Another?” he asks shyly, stretching his legs wider.

_God._ “You got it, buddy,” Bucky says, slipping his fingers out to re-slick them. Steve lets out a small plaintive sound at the loss and Bucky moans, a quiet thing between his teeth, and gives his cock a few pulls to ease the ache. If Steve keeps sounding like that Bucky is gonna blow his load way before he can even get Steve off.

“Three’s gonna hurt a little more,” Bucky warns, smoothing his hand over the sharp jut of Steve’s hip. “Tell me if I go too fast or if you need me to stop.”

Steve nods, lower lip caught between his teeth. Bucky leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth, licking over the indents left from Steve’s teeth. He swallows Steve’s moan as he circles his rim, feeling the slight stretch, teasing wth just the very tips of his fingers before pushing in and murmuring, “Good, good, doin’ _so good_ for me, Stevie,” as Steve sucks in a breath and frames Bucky’s face with his hands.

“ _God_ , Buck,” Steve moans. “Keep going, please, keep going.”

Bucky nips at Steve’s lip before pulling back. He stretches his fingers, searching, rubbing, until he finds the little bump that he could barely find himself when he’d experimented with this. Steve cries out, arms giving out as he falls back to the bed, and as Bucky continues to rub over it, gently, Steve trembles, fingers fisting the sheets and heels digging in. “Oh, fuck,” he whines, pushing his hips against Bucky’s hand. “Oh my god, Bucky.”

“Touch yourself,” Bucky pleads, half-mad already with the stretched-thin way his name sounds coming out of Steve’s mouth, and Steve does, wrapping a hand around his cock. It’s like every one of Bucky’s furtive, secret fantasies, late at night with his own cock in hand, too aware of the thinness of their walls. Desperate not to wake Steve up, desperate to get off and try to forget that it was his best friend, coming with a fist shoved in his mouth and Steve’s name trapped between the bones of his teeth and the bones of his hand, back arched off the bed. And to think that all of that had been unnecessary.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Bucky moans, driving his fingers in deeper, wrapping a hand around a thin hip tight enough to bruise. Every noise that Steve makes is soaked in like a plant seeking sunlight. It spurs Bucky into working his fingers into Steve harder, faster, taking cues from Steve’s dropped-open mouth and pink-flushed torso. “Can’t wait to you see split on my cock.” Bucky hears the drop in his voice and watches a shiver work its way over Steve’s body like an icy chill has just rushed into the room. Steve begins working his cock in faster, tighter pumps, little _ah ah_ noises garbled in the back of his throat. The next words out of Bucky’s mouth are practically a low growl. “Gonna look so good taking it, Stevie. Gonna look so goddamn pretty all stretched for me.”

Steve whines, a high, teetering noise, and pushes his head back against the pillows. It makes his golden hair fan around him like a halo. Lust sparks hot through Bucky’s veins, electric in its wake, and he breathes, “You like that?”

“Fuck me.” It’s almost like Steve doesn’t know he’s saying it, cross-eyed and delirious with pleasure as he is. Bucky bends, taking one of Steve’s balls in his mouth, and Steve yells, threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair and giving it a sharp tug, dropping his other hand to grip at the sheets. “Please,” Steve says.

_Fuck_ , Bucky wants to: wants to watch Steve’s face as he pushes in, wants to feel the tight welcoming heat of his body, wants to _show_ Steve how good it can feel, to have someone who cares about him as much as Bucky does. He wants to show Steve that he's not like all the skirts that Bucky has chased, aches to tell him with lips and tongue and hands that he’d always wanted it to be Steve.

“Wanna feel you, Buck,” Steve moans. “God, want you to fuck me until I can’t move.”

“Yeah?” Bucky nips at the skin of Steve’s inner thigh and watches it bloom red like blood over snow. “What do you want?” he practically begs. God, he’s so close and he’s barely even touched himself. “Tell me how you want it. Tell me how good it feels.”

Steve pulls Bucky down for a kiss, grips tight at Bucky’s bicep, the one flexing with each drive of his fingers into Steve’s body. “Feels so good,” he murmurs. “Want more, want all of you, Bucky, _c’mon_ give me more.”

Steve’s cock twitches against his belly, leaving a smear of pre-come. Bucky licks his way down, over the stretch of skin between Steve’s sac and his hole. It’s so sensitive here, and above him Steve keens. Bucky inches lower, pausing, taking a deep breath before slipping his tongue in the space between his fingers and curling it against Steve’s rim.

Bucky doesn't see it, but he _hears_ it, the near-wail that Steve lets out as his body goes rigid, hips stuttering, forcing Bucky’s fingers in-in-in as he comes, slick, over his belly. The ragged echoes of his panting have Bucky rutting against the bed like a teenager, puffing hot breathy moans over Steve’s hole as he curls his fingers once more and slides them out, straightening up to see the last twitches of Steve’s orgasm, come splattered up to his heaving chest.

“Christ,” Bucky swears, using his slick hand to grip his cock and start stroking. Steve looks like pure sin, laid out like this. Eyes heavy-lidded from being fucked, hair mussed. “You got no idea how good you look like this.”

A self-satisfied smile unfurls from Steve’s mouth. “Yeah?” He beckons Bucky closer, grip on his arm to tug him further into the cradle of Steve’s legs. Eyes flick down, long lashes fluttering as his tongue passes over his lips. Watches Bucky’s hand, and Bucky flushes, a little self-conscious for the first time all afternoon because he usually doesn't do this; usually, it isn’t about his pleasure, and he prefers to get to the main event, anyway. But with Steve, Bucky finds himself wanting to show off a little bit, stroke himself the way he does at night. Like he’s sharing a little secret piece of himself with Steve, something nobody else ever gets to see. It makes it that much hotter, makes him that much harder, and he moans, unabashed, thumbing over the head and twisting tight on the way down.

“Close,” he breathes when he feels the fire licking at the base of his spine. Feels the heat glowing, branching out, balls tightening up. Mouth dropped open and brows knitted, hips fucking his cock through the circle of his fist, the sounds slick and filthy. Steve stretches up, running a hand down the trembling line of Bucky’s thigh.

“Come on me,” he says. And fuck, Bucky would've been powerless to say no, anyway, as his orgasm crashes through him like a freighter, knocking the breath from his lungs until the only sounds are squeezed from his throat like they’re in a vice, winded and wounded and feral as he streaks white over Steve’s chest, semen running down his fingers, slicking him up further.

And through it all Steve watches, jaw a little slack, eyes intense. Some lands on the softening line of his cock, nestled in the sharp jut of a hipbone, and Bucky finally wrings himself dry with a shuddering whimper, letting go of his cock and collapsing down next to Steve.

“I really have wanted to do that for awhile,” Steve says when Bucky’s blood stops roaring in his ears. “Kiss you, I mean.”

Bucky looks up from where he’s got his head pillowed on his arms. The light hits Steve even better this way, makes him really look like an angel.

“But I didn't wanna ask,” Steve continues. “In case you didn’t…feel like that."

In case he—? Bucky’s pretty sure that he’s gotta look at Steve like he’s hung the moon. “That may be the dumbest thing I’ve heard come outta your trap yet, Rogers, and I’ve heard you goad fellas twice your size.”

Steve looks at him in surprise, and Bucky sits up. “I take on half your battles with you, even when you’re cussin’ me out for stepping in. I’m practically your goddamn sidekick at this point, and you still thought that I didn't want you?”

Bucky still doesn't know how Steve never caught on. It always felt like there was a sign on top of his head, bold and loud in declaration. They’re a lot closer than best friends and roommates ought to be, especially in their neighborhood.

“I didn’t—”

Bucky shuts him up with a kiss, long and slow and deep, silent in its physical portrayal of what Bucky feels every time Steve is around him, every goddamn time that Steve smiles and lights up the room. It’s too damn hot to be having this conversation.

“You know,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth twitching when they part and Steve’s got Bucky pressed on his back again and already more than halfway to hard, “I think I might wanna try drawing now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I cry on [Tumblr](http://endofadream.tumblr.com) here. Reviews are appreciated!


End file.
